


When You're Ready

by poselikeateam



Series: Higher Vampire Jaskier AUs [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bisexual Disaster Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Blood Drinking, Communication Failure, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Lack of Communication, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Oblivious Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Secrets, Vampire Jaskier | Dandelion, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24300898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam
Summary: Geralt knows that him being oblivious is a running joke amongst his friends, but he's really not. He knows that Jaskier is a Higher Vampire, would have to be an idiot not to — but for some reason, the bard hasn'ttoldhim yet. Maybe, if he drops a few hints, Jaskier will finally feel comfortable enough to share his 'secret'.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Higher Vampire Jaskier AUs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754371
Comments: 24
Kudos: 1403
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	When You're Ready

**Author's Note:**

> I fucked around with the canon timeline a little bit. Nothing bad happens to anyone. All's well that ends well. Also Jaskier is a Higher Vampire because at this point what else do you expect from me? I have a few more ideas for this trope because of course I do. Also, I'm currently putting all my Higher Vampire Jaskier fics into one series so sub to that if you want to know when I put one up I guess?
> 
> I feel like I write oblivious himbo Geralt and chaotic disaster Jaskier so much, and while it's a lot of fun I wanted to try a little turntables. They are disasters and they are doing their best and their best is terrible.

Geralt is fully aware that he has a reputation for being oblivious. Whether that is actually earned, well, that depends on who you ask. He would argue, of course, that he isn’t, because an oblivious Witcher wouldn’t last very long, but he will admit that he isn’t the best with people. Those closest to him (and it’s still hard to wrap his head around sometimes, that he _has_ people that are close to him) would say that he has the observational skills of a brick wall. He doesn’t, really — he notices plenty of things, he just doesn’t feel the need to comment on them.

Take, for instance, Jaskier. Geralt will admit to himself that he has noticed a lot about the bard over the years. He can tell his moods and how to deal with them, which is no small feat for someone as mercurial as his bard. He notices when Jaskier seems to need a break and does his best to provide it, but he doesn’t say anything because it might embarrass the bard or make him think that Geralt doesn’t think he can handle it or any of the number of things that he might jump to. He steers them towards towns when he sees Jaskier needs human company or to blow off some steam. It’s sort of like taking care of Roach, though he’d never say it. Being attentive to Jaskier’s needs is not difficult for him, but he isn’t going to mention that.

He notices when Jaskier is running low on the oils he likes to carry and use on the both of them, and has more than once replenished the supply himself. He has bought Jaskier ink when he knew they were going to be on a longer journey. He notices when Jaskier needs little comforts and if it is in his power he does what he can to provide them. 

The thing is, he has also noticed physical things about Jaskier; things that have changed, and things that have not, and the latter category is far larger than the former. Jaskier, in all their time together, has not aged a day. Geralt isn’t stupid, he knows that humans are supposed to age much more quickly than this — for example, at all. Admittedly, it took him a while, but he isn’t used to humans sticking around him. When Yennefer made a comment about Jaskier’s crow’s feet, it startled Geralt at first, to think he hadn’t noticed. When he took a closer look at the man, however, he was startled for a different reason: he hadn’t noticed because there was _nothing to notice_. And that’s about when he realised that a man Jaskier’s age should definitely not look like a fresh-faced lad barely out of University, should have wrinkles and laugh lines and maybe even a streak or two of grey in his hair.

Geralt pays even more attention after that. He notices the way that, occasionally, Jaskier smells faintly of blood after his trysts. While before, Geralt had written it off as Jaskier having gotten into a minor scrape, perhaps confronted by a cuckolded husband or prideful father, he realises now that it could be something else — probably is, honestly. 

When Jaskier is angry he is almost a different man. It has always been that way, but now Geralt takes note of it with a more critical eye. The man is expressive, but a lot of it is a show, and the Witcher has learned more or less how to cut through the bullshit and see what is really going on in the bard’s head. When Jaskier is really, truly angry, the kind of anger that turns a man red and makes his fists tremble, he is a force to be reckoned with.

His fingernails will look just a little sharper, sometimes, and Geralt has always assumed that it was a trick of the light, or simply to do with his excessive grooming. He develops a lisp, as if his teeth are suddenly too big for his mouth, when he is exceptionally upset; Geralt thought before that perhaps he’d had a speech impediment as a child and his control over it in adulthood was tenuous if he wasn’t paying attention. Now, he is starting to piece things together.

Admittedly, it takes a while. First, there’s that business on the mountain, and then before Geralt could even catch up to him and apologise Jaskier is gone. He searches for him for a while before he simply can’t anymore. Cintra falls. He finds his Child Surprise. Like so often happens when something is lost, when he truly stops looking for Jaskier is when he finds him, and then Geralt is too busy apologising to really pay attention to how human the other man might be.

Even though Jaskier forgives him immediately, comes along with them like no time had passed, it takes him a while to forgive himself. He tries to be kinder, to make sure Jaskier knows that he never meant the things he said; he tries to be _better_. And while he’s always been attentive to Jaskier’s needs, now he is doubly so. 

It shocks him sometimes that people think he is the oblivious one, when compared to his bard.

Jaskier does not seem to believe that Geralt’s care for him is genuine, or perhaps he doesn’t even notice it. He seems to think that it’s all for Ciri, and while yes, Geralt is trying to keep her as safe and comfortable and happy as he can, he’s trying to do the same for Jaskier and the bastard is not taking the hint. 

Eventually, Geralt has to use his words. Jaskier had blathered on before about _love languages_ and how everyone’s is different, and Geralt had listened. He contemplates it now, before deciding on a plan of action. He has noticed the way Jaskier has looked at him over the years, the gentleness with which the other man treats him even though he does not need it. Jaskier treats him like something to be cherished. His dislike of Yennefer only cements the idea in Geralt’s head: Jaskier is in love with him. Of course, it was easier to figure out the bard’s feelings than his own, so it had taken him much longer — about this long, really — to figure out that he’s felt the same for perhaps longer than he’d care to admit. 

The thing about love languages is, according to Jaskier, there are several. Geralt has always valued action over words. Words can mean more than one thing, but an action is solid. Words are a promise and actions are the follow through. Jaskier, though? He is a poet. He values words, promises. He also always knew that Geralt values action over words because Jaskier has showered him in both, adulation and kind gestures surrounding him like an ocean. Geralt, for his part, has only been speaking his own love language, and Jaskier has not been understanding it.

“I need to speak with you,” Geralt grunts softly one night after Ciri falls asleep to one of Jaskier’s gentle lullabies. They are so close to Kaer Morhen, to safety, but the girl needs her rest.

Jaskier sets down his lute, tilts his head. “This is new,” he teases, but there’s an undercurrent of unease to his tone.

“I don’t want to wake Ciri,” Geralt warns. “I won’t leave her alone — we’ll have to be quiet.”

Jaskier mimes locking his lips, sticking the key down the front of his tunic, and Geralt breathes out a snort of amusement. 

“What is it?” Jaskier asks him. He looks soft in the firelight, and Geralt moves just a little closer. 

“You are important to me,” says the Witcher. Even in the low light, his enhanced senses can see the flush that now decorates the apples of Jaskier’s cheeks.

“Thank you,” answers the bard, for once not teasing. “That means a great deal to me, Geralt.”

Geralt hums. “I need you to know the extent of it. I care for you, more than I would have thought possible before we’d met.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, his tone a warning. There’s a hope in his eyes that Geralt can see him trying to fight against.

“I’ve loved you for some time,” Geralt admits. 

“No,” Jaskier says.

“No?”

“You haven’t,” insists the bard. “I would _know_.”

“You respond best to words,” the Witcher insists, “so I am telling you: I love you. I’m not eloquent like you, I can’t offer you poems or songs, but it’s the truth.”

Jaskier is trembling, and Geralt is about to apologise, afraid he’s made a mistake, but then the bard is kissing him and there are hands in his hair and a man in his lap and suddenly, the night feels a lot warmer.

A lot happens after that: they make it to Kaer Morhen. The war comes and goes leaving devastation in its wake. Cities fall. Ciri grows into a young woman, probably more dangerous than her guardian, and Geralt is proud. Things get worse before they get better but then, oh, how they get better.

In the end of it all, he is still a Witcher. He still travels the Continent slaying monsters for coin. He is still looked down upon by many. He still travels, more often than not now, with a fresh-faced bard. By now, he has been sure for a while of what Jaskier is. 

And maybe he should have known that he was a Higher Vampire, should have put the pieces together a lot sooner, but he’ll forgive himself for being a bit distracted. In the beginning, when he didn’t know anything about the man, it made sense for him not to know; their kind hide so well that even his medallion can’t tell when one of them is in his presence. The thing is, he has noticed every clue, every hint. He can tell the difference between when Jaskier is pretending to be drunk on alcohol and when he is drunk on blood. He can see a hint of fangs in the throes of passion. He has seen the way the years have rolled off of his lover like water off of a duck’s back. He notices the grace behind every movement, even the clumsy ones that he has long known are faked. He saw all of them, catalogued them, but didn’t really know what to _do_ with them until he didn’t have the time to put it together. He has known for a while, now, but like with all things, he will not be the first to say anything.

No, that is for Jaskier to do. For all the man loves his words, there are some that Geralt knows he hesitates to say. It must be very difficult to feel as though you have to hide something so intrinsic from a loved one, but he knows that this secret is Jaskier’s to tell. He wants him to feel comfortable enough to tell him.

And Geralt doesn’t really know why he hasn’t. Gods know Jaskier’s never been afraid of him, and Geralt’s sure that he doesn’t think he’s going to try to kill him if he finds out. As if he even could, let alone would. It might be a habit, that he’s just been hiding it from everyone around him for so long that he doesn’t quite know how to bring it up. Maybe he’s been trying to figure out how to say it; he is so intent on finding the perfect words for everything, Geralt notes with a fondness that borders on exasperation. 

It could be that he’s waiting for Geralt to notice, in which case they’re sort of at an impasse. So, bearing that in mind, Geralt has started to drop hints that he knows. He’s not exactly a master of subtlety, of couching his true meanings behind deceptive language, but for Jaskier, he’s willing to give it a shot.

“I know this doesn’t do anything for you,” Geralt says one evening, gesturing to the shot the bard’s just thrown back. They’re in a tavern, for once not pressed for coin, and Jaskier has insisted that they celebrate (but not _what_ they should be celebrating). And, okay, he will concede that this isn’t subtle, but he was aware that it wasn’t his strong suit before he even started.

Jaskier stares at him for a moment, brow furrowed, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Geralt tries not to get distracted by the sight. 

Then Jaskier smiles brightly at him with a little laugh. “Yes, I know I don’t enjoy the stuff like you do, but it’s a _celebration_. I’m all too happy to imbibe, even if I can’t help but think that goat’s piss would taste better.”

It has Geralt laughing, but it doesn’t seem like he’s managed to get his point across. He waits for an appropriate time and then makes his way over to the bar, ordering a glass of Toussaint red for his companion and a Temerian Rye for himself. 

“I know you prefer the red,” Geralt tells him, “when you do choose to _imbibe_.”

But Jaskier only grins at him and takes the glass. “You spoil me, dear,” he says, taking a sip. Clearly, this is going nowhere. 

Perhaps if he just keeps dropping hints, though, Jaskier will piece it together enough to eventually feel comfortable telling him. He can admit that he knew all along, and they can put this behind them. It surely won’t take that long. He just has to pace himself, spread the hints out enough that he isn’t jamming them down the bard’s throat but not enough that they can slip his mind in the interim.

He ends up trying a _lot_ of different hints over the next few months — at least one every few days, some repeated to really drive the point home. He even once refused a contract for some Bruxae near Oxenfurt because Jaskier had winced and Geralt had thought _what if he knows them_ and when Jaskier looked at him in wide-eyed confusion he had shrugged and said, “Perhaps someone will reason with them instead.”

Jaskier had taken that as a joke but from the contemplative look he had afterwards, Geralt knew that that ‘someone’ would probably be his bard. Still, that had been weeks ago and he is honestly still surprised and a little frustrated that Jaskier didn’t take _that_ hint, because it’s so rare for him to not take a contract and even moreso when he doesn’t have a good reason, which he clearly hadn’t, but Jaskier still hasn’t said anything.

His most recent hint is where it all comes to a head. In the heat of the moment, when he knows that Jaskier’s teeth are a little _more_ than he’s used to, he gasps out and asks the bard to bite him. Instead, Jaskier goes quiet, pushes him away, and starts pacing around their room. It would be a pretty amusing sight if he wasn’t so confused and, if he’s honest, a little hurt.

“I can’t take it!” Jaskier finally says, rounding on him. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, Geralt!”

Geralt opens his mouth, though he’s not sure exactly what he’s going to say, but Jaskier continues. 

“I mean— I can’t tell if you _know_ and you’re just fucking with me, or-or what kind of _game_ this is, or if it’s all just a bunch of shit I’m building up in my head— I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or if you still don’t know and it’s driving me fucking _crazy!_ ”

“What do you mean?” Geralt asks, because why would he intentionally try to hurt or upset Jaskier after all this time? 

That, it turns out, is not the right answer. “I’m a vampire, Geralt,” he says, his tone frazzled. “I’m a Higher Vampire and I honestly can’t tell if you just want me to say it because you’re upset I haven’t come clean, or if you really haven’t noticed, or what. I don’t know what’s going on but you’ve been— you’ve been saying and doing this shit for months now and it’s driving me mad, I can’t take it!”

Geralt walks over to him, pulls him close, hoping that the gesture is soothing. “I never meant to upset you,” he says, because that’s the first thing he wants to get out of the way.

Jaskier laughs, but it’s a hysterical sort of sound that Geralt does not like. “Please, tell me what’s been going on, then.”

Geralt sighs, leads the bard gently to the bed so they can sit and talk instead of standing in the middle of the room fully nude and a little slippery. “I’ve known for a while now,” he says, “since the mountain, almost. I think I figured it out fully shortly after Cintra fell. I thought you weren’t telling me because you weren’t ready, or didn’t know how, or didn’t know how I’d react— I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t want to just _say_ it. It was yours to tell me and I didn’t want to take that.”

“You— for fuck’s sake,” Jaskier says. “So all these little, I don’t know, taunts you’ve been throwing at me?”

“I was trying to drop hints so you’d be more comfortable telling me,” Geralt says with a frown. “I didn’t know you’d think I was _taunting_ you.”

“I tried hinting it to you for _ages_ ,” Jaskier tells him. “I gave up, figured you’d just figure it out on your own and you’d tell me when you did and we’d have a good laugh about it and that would be that.”

Geralt hums, a little amused. “I was hoping the same,” he admits. 

“If only we’d had the same bad idea at the same time, instead of decades apart,” Jaskier complains, but now his voice carries an undercurrent of laughter. 

They talk about it more, and they _do_ end up laughing about it. There is one thing that he has to make perfectly clear, though: Geralt _does_ pay attention to what’s important, and he has _always_ paid attention to Jaskier.


End file.
